The Symphony of Strings
by SilvertoLead
Summary: It's Will Graham's birthday, and Hannibal's totally not forgotten or anything. To celebrate, Doctor Lecter takes Will to a lavish orchestra, and tells him to put on his best suit. Does Will Graham even have a suit? No one seems to believe he does. So it's not just weird to see him in one, but it's... Wow. He really rocks suits. Like, /really./ [Hannigram]


Fan Fiction inspired by this post [x] [credit for the idea goes directly to them :) ]

It wasn't rare that Hannibal could be found with himself, enjoying the moments of quiet he so savored, between patients, or at whatever time granted him such calm. The room always seemed to have such an odd, yet ghastly calm to it; panes of sunlight breaking through the cracks in the curtains, lighting up the dust that swam among the air with a sort of ethereal quality and charm that you could rarely ignore. It was a warm summer's morning, in June, and, thankful for air conditioning, such peace was unable to be disturbed, even by that.

Lecter had just slotted a book away, back in it's sandwiched slot on an oakwood shelf; the book being another work by Charles Darwin; and, after ensuring to blow the layer of dust that had settled on the shelf itself away, he gave a small, inclination of his head, before taking a few, clicking steps to the desk. To which he seated himself.

Atop the desk, was a selection of cartridge papers, each with an intricate sketching on them, though some still laid blank. Thin, pianist's fingers, selected the first one, and examined it, the look of understanding adorning Lecter's defined features, before he glanced toward the second.

A sketch of the young, pretty, messy haired man, soft, and in such contrast to the dark of his glasses. Will Graham.

Will had no idea his essential psychiatrist had sketched that. Although, very few people were in the loop of knowledge, when it came to Hannibal Lecter. They knew what the man wanted them to know.

So it seemed completely normal, and completely casual, for him to lean to the side after laying the sketch he held down gently, and pulled open the third drawer of the desk, removing, from the selection of patient files, his own copy, on;

**_First name: _**_William._  
**_Last name: _**_Graham._  
_**DoB: **__19/06/75._

... Why was _that date_ familiar?

It seemed to dawn on the man then. June the nineteenth. That was Will's birthday.

It was also _today_.

His brows raised somewhat in understanding. So. It was Will's birthday today.

Lecter laid the file away, and sat still a moment, lost in his thought. This may be a good opportunity to 'give something back', if you will. The poor Criminal Profiler had been so taxed recently; through 'no aid' of _Hannibal Lecter's_; so perhaps he deserved something good. If it only lasted on his birthday. Lecter was fairly certain he wouldn't have plans. And there seemed to be a rather helpful little solution in his mind, to this.

Tonight, he knew, at one of the classier theatres in town, there was a scheduled orchestra. To which, Hannibal had been wanting to attend, for some time.

May as well take a _friend_.

* * *

"_Winston_!"

The medium sized, golden haired dog, had bounded off after yet another cat, and Will could only attempt to hurry in suit. He'd woken up not so long ago; or, rather, been jolted awake, by the cooling sweat on his forehead and the pulsing night terrors, and, though his sleep had been plagued _yet again_ with the vivid hallucinations, he didn't have time to ponder them. He'd gotten dressed, and instead of walking the dogs, fed them, and let them out for a little while; and, now, Wintson had decided to make life difficult.

It took just over eight minutes to finally bring the dog back, and, out of breath from the running, Will took a few vital seconds to lean against the pane of his door, chest rising and falling dramatically. At least that would keep him awake.

The phone, rather too loudly for his liking, rang, around three minutes later, and he took a moment to go and answer it. It was a good thing he did.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Will," the familiar voice of Doctor Lecter rang through the phone. Will, who, at this point, had managed to somewhat recover most of his breath, smiled slightly.

"Morning. Any reason for this early phone call?" he asked. It wasn't really that early; it was around nine o'clock in the day. Will wasn't working today, but, he had left a few files at the station, so he'd need to go get those.

"Indeed there is. Happy birthday."

_Happy birthday?_

Oh, of course. Today was his birthday.

Will had hardly even remembered. A combination of stress, short term memory loss, and traumatic sleeping, had left him in no state of mind to remember such trivial dates. Even if they did rather heavily apply to him. How could you forget? He heard people asking already. It did make him feel a little ill, in honesty.

"Oh," he breathed out, as well as a small sigh, before moving to sit on the couch. "I... guess I just forgot that. Thanks."

Poetic, warm laughter could be heard on the other end, and though he'd normally have found it annoying, he was alright with it. This was Hannibal Lecter; this was his friend; so he'd accept it.

"It is a good thing I, however, did not. Tonight, there is going to be a divine orchestra, performing some of _Yohann Sebastian's_ most famous pieces. I was going to attend the event myself, but, in light of the occasion; would you like to join me?"

He gave a small chuckle of his own, then. Will Graham? At an orchestra? The very idea seemed otherworldly, and he knew that not just himself would think that. He did, in fact, like classical music, despite popular belief about him, and after initial disbelief at the idea, he... began to like it, really. "An orchestra?" the profiler repeated, a smile painted on those friendly lips of his. "With me?"

"Consider it a birthday gift, if you will."

_Well, why not?_

"Okay. Sure. I'll go to this orchestra with you. What ti-"

"You needn't worry of the time of the event itself. Simply arrive at my office at 6pm. Sharp, I might add. And you may want to dress for the occasion. Places so ostentatious require a degree of lavish clothing."

He hesitated a small amount, then. It was true that Will Graham didn't own too many 'fancy' types of clothing. Why would he need them? A man of nature, it would be absurd to own anything like that. Although… He could piece something together.

"Got it."

* * *

The taller pin on Hannibal's watch clicked to resting just above the number 12, and, what with the smaller resting on the number 6, he, naturally, glanced towards the door.

After informing Jack Crawford himself that Will wouldn't be coming in to get those files he needed, the man had wanted visual proof that he'd not be going to the station. As did Beverly Katz. So the two of them had arrived at Hannibal's office at the same time from the station, on a short visit, to find Dr. Alana Bloom was already present. As was Abigail Hobbs. The difference being, the two women held, in their hands, gifts; whereas the other two, did not.

And, in the corner of the room, stood the psychiatrist himself, wearing a cleanly cut, grey suit, and a dark honey tie.

In all honesty, he'd expected Will to be a little late. The others wanted to see him as much as Lecter did; and he couldn't deny them the chance to do so, now, before he'd steal him for a few hours. Upon hearing about Hannibal and Will's little 'night out', however, they were wrought with discussing their disbelief for it.

Thank God Freddie Lounds had no idea this gathering existed; she'd _love_ this.

"Can you imagine it, though?" Beverly hummed, lips still stretched into a grin after their previous bouts of laughter. "Will, all fancied up? It's so weird picturing it."

"I have a feeling he'd look absolutely dashing," Alana added. Her gift, wrapped in faded blue wrapping paper, sat on the side, at Hannibal's express request to allow Will to open them later. He'd been polite about it, of course, and both Alana and Abigail agreed on it. The younger girl was sat nearby, on the white leather couch, and seemed content enough.

While the others laughed at the idea of Will in a suit, Jack all the more, Hannibal quietly stepped around the sides of the room, to sit next to Abigail, and, after remaining quiet a few moments, finally glanced to his side, and offered a soft smile.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice relaxing, and calm as ever, despite the fact that he was even now a tiny bit impatient. She shrugged her shoulders slightly.

"Yeah," the teenager nodded, lips pursing together in a brave smile, and, feeling it necessary, he shuffled closer to her, and laid an arm around her shoulders. Abigail rested her head against the crook of Hannibal's neck, and he was immediately engulfed in her scent, as he always seemed to be. He was Hannibal Lecter. He had that sort of… 'sense of smell', that would, no doubt, fame him, in the future. It certainly had in the past.

"Good," Lecter said, just as quietly and calmly as before. Aware that the time was now reading '6:04', he pushed the thought from his mind, and focused on the others in the room.

"He's not the type to go to these sort of occasions," Jack stated, brushing down the front of his own suit a little absently. "It makes it interesting for me to see what he'll look like."

"On his birthday, too," said Beverly.

"I don't think-"

"I'm not late, am I?" Will said, from the doorway.

Then, however, came the switching of everyone in the room's gazes, as did the snapping of attentions flick to the profiler, and; a hush fell.

He looked… amazing.

One hand holding the side of the door frame in a form of lazy, casual way, there stood the perfectly dressed Will Graham. For starters, the first thing everyone noticed, was the knee length coat; soft creams and browns, with hints of a muted maroon, that clung perfectly to his frame. One of the buttons; the middle button; had been fastened, so it was taken in at the waist, and the collar was fairly large, also buttoned down on the lapels. Beneath that, the normally so rustic Criminal Profiler had on black, pinstripe trousers, and a matching pinstripe jacket, and, to go with a striped theme, a soft pink shirt, once again; striped, finishing off with a black and off-white tie. Striped, once more. He wasn't wearing his usual, dark frames, and his hair looked, if it were possible, slightly messier than normal; but for some reason, it… worked. Effortlessly. He just looked… effortless. Perfect. Utterly perfect.

"Wow," chuckled a bewildered Jack Crawford, who began slow clapping, for effect. "You clean up nicely."

He was not the most bewildered person in the room. That title laid with Hannibal Lecter himself.

He'd expected Will to wear his usual clothes, in all honesty. Maybe a dressier shirt, maybe a jacket. Nothing at all like this. And the amount it took Lecter off guard was… _criminal_.

Removing his arm from around Abigail's shoulders, Hannibal stood, then, and, it registered, that he was, for the time being, speechless.

**Hannibal Lecter** was _speechless_.

"You look amazing, Will," both Alana and Beverly were fast to point out, to which Will; who'd, evidently, and to add insult to injury, not thought much of it, even flushed a little.

"Thanks," he said, looking ridiculously meek with that 'shy' smile of his.

They got about, wishing Will the usual 'happy birthday' charade, and Abigail even joined in at that point; exchanging what gifts were there, only to lay them back on the side for Will to open later, after the orchestra, as previously planned. It was quite humorous, really, to see the look of confusion on their faces, when informed that Will himself was, indeed, a classical music fan. Will looked rather happy, for once. It was odd to see such a genuine smile on the man's face, and yet, at the same time, it was nice. For the most part, Hannibal had nothing to worry about. Well; besides the clear and obvious infatuation he seemed to have for a 'suited Will Graham'.

Finally, they began to disperse. Jack and Beverly left first, still left to their disbelief, before both Alana and Abigail said their good byes. Will gave both women a kiss on the cheek; despite any awkwardness between himself and Alana; and smiled at their departure. He, then, turned to look at Hannibal.

Lecter was stood by his desk. He'd busied himself with other things for the time being, and, in honesty; he wanted a little alone time. He wanted to talk to Will without prying ears or eyes, and without the burden of company.

"I hope your silence means I did well with dressing myself today," Will said, his hands moving to slide in his pockets, making both parts of the coat lift upward; hatefully so displaying the dress trousers he wore. They weren't even pleated. Will, though he probably didn't know he was doing so, was dressing perfectly for the occasion. Damn him.

And the smell. Hannibal was picking up such an interesting smell. The smell of Will Graham, yes, but also the smell of other things on him. The oddness of something, or rather, someone, so earthy, clad in something so elegant. It wasn't a bad smell, however strong it was; and, if anything, it even had a slightly more-ish quality to it.

"On the contrary, my silence means I am lost to a world of thought," Hannibal corrected, turning to face him, with a small smile, allowing his gaze to agitate over the other man's form once more. "You look wonderful."

The blush that then proceeded to invade Will's cheeks seemed to be a lot more potent than the first, and he gave a happy smile in return. A comment like that was, seemingly, a lot more appreciated, when it came from Hannibal, than when it came from Beverly. Why this was so, Will wasn't entirely sure.

"Thank you," he said. "I did try."

"You succeeded."

There was an odd air between them, then. Hannibal wasted no time in complimenting the other man's exterior, and Will wasted no time in accepting that. Hannibal was also finding he was wasting no time in piecing apart this odd… odd 'attraction' there was for him. Maybe it was just the suit, maybe it was the man inside it, but he felt… compelled, to let him know just how good he did, indeed, look. No matter how difficult the tension then made it.

Classic sexual tension at it's finest. The finest, of course, being with the finest china.

_Bitter sweet irony, no?_

"We had better set off now, then. I believe we are 14 minutes late."

"Oh, shoot," the profiler said, biting his lip, and turning, striding towards the door. "Are you driving us there?"

"Yes," Lecter said, and took his own, black coat, moving off to follow. "Yes I am."

* * *

Ah, the orchestra. The sounds, the smells, the people, the elegance, it was… always, _always_, a wonderfully spellbinding event. It could capture anyone's interest; if they featured in the arts at all; and entertain it _thoroughly,_ with the symphony of strings, metals, and voices; all merged together into one, beautiful, evening.

And all Hannibal Lecter was thinking about was the man sat next to him.

It was shameful. Embarrassing. Yes, he could concentrate on the music for extended periods of time, but never for too long. Why? Because Will would do something utterly normal. He'd fidget, which would send a bout of smell Hannibal's way. He'd close his eyes, as if losing himself to the music, which was such a beautiful thing to look at that he could hardly look away. The longest space of time he'd ignored Will for was all of 16 minutes, but was broken away and back to him, when the criminal profiler would cross one suited leg over the other.

Not to mention, the strange heat that was making a home in his veins.

It was all so very hateful.

How he'd last so long with this going on, he wasn't sure; but, he couldn't help remembering that it was, indeed, Will's birthday. He shouldn't be thinking such things on the man's birthday.

If Will would have known, then of course, he wouldn't have minded. Not one bit.

* * *

"That was amazing," he sighed, shuddering slightly when they stepped out into of the theatre, into the cool air. Despite it being summer, it was still relatively cold at nights, and the inside of the theatre was heated rather well. This lashing of colder air was, of course, on Hannibal's part, most welcome.

"I find that this theatre's orchestra's most often are," Lecter said, almost absently, gaze upon the road, the passing people, hurrying from the building to their expensive and lavish cars, the click of heels everywhere and the bustle of post-orchestral discussions. Some people had lit cigarettes, others had lit cigars. Upper class vibes were everywhere. It made Will uncomfortable, of course.

"So," he said, glancing to look at Hannibal, eyes still bright, however evident fatigue made the usual hues of blue seem less blue. Still pretty, however. "Where did we park?"

"Over there," the psychiatrist pointed. "But there is something I need to do, and for that, I require your aid. Follow me."

With that, much to Will's confusion, the older man set off down the side of the theatre, and, after a few steps, directing off into a nearby alleyway. Brows knitted together, Will was about to question what exactly he needed help with, before he was forced to follow, and did so, leaving his coat unbuttoned for now, as the cool air, despite chilly, was pleasant.

"Doctor Lecter?" he asked, just getting to the mouth of the relatively thin alleyway, and sighting the man, stood, with his back facing the wall. Cocking his head in confusion slightly, Will stepped in after him. "What is it you-"

He was cut off, then, rather strongly to his great surprise, when the psychiatrist's lips were brushed into contact with his own. And they didn't remove themselves, either.

So stunned by this, Will's mind began to sharpen everything. Touch, taste, smell, hearing; it all vamped up and into complete motion. Time seemed to slow down as he flustered to gather the reality of the kiss; the kiss between himself and… and Hannibal Lecter. He, while Hannibal was simply putting pressure on his own lips against Will's, did nothing to aid the kiss; but, at the same time, he did nothing to stop it.

Before he knew, his eyelids closed shut. Hannibal's were a slit open, however. Upon observing his companion's closing, they shut fully.

And once more, to Will's bewilderment, he found himself actually kissing back.

When met with the levelling pressure Will gave him, a thin fingered, artist's hand, moving upward, laying itself on his shoulder, before sliding very slowly, and very tenderly, along to his neck. When it reached there, it slid to the back, and supported Will's skull, giving him more balance, because he'd need it. Especially when Hannibal pinched the skin on the back of his neck slightly, causing Will to then gasp; which granted him the leeway to deepen the kiss.

Lips parting, his head tilted, nose brushing against Will's, the free hand he had found a home on the front of Will's torso, and rested there.

Will was having difficulty taking in this sudden turn of events. More so, the fact that he was, slowly, kissing back. Head tilting in sync with Hannibal's, he wasn't adding much to the kiss, but was certainly open to it. The psychiatrist's touch was soft; was tender; and, somehow, was utterly lulling. With a mind so usually filled with disturbing visions, it occurred to Will, then, that this could all simply be another vividly realistic hallucination he had.

He was wrong if he thought that, and he was made aware of this, when Hannibal's teeth bit on the lower lip of his companion's.

Will could do nothing to stop the whine that left him, at the sudden jolt of pain, and the kiss, after a few moments, felt… wetter. It occurred to him that Hannibal had bitten his lip to cause blood to bubble upward; and that being true, the psychiatrist was sucking it all up. His tongue even pressed forward, sweeping Will's lower lip with growing hunger, and, when he felt he could, allowed it to delve further, into the profiler's mouth; exploring it with ease, memorizing it with eager tones.

Why he'd bitten him, Will wasn't sure. But it was sending him wild with his senses, and, for perhaps the first time in a long while; Will Graham felt totally grounded to earth. He felt one with not just his surroundings, but with himself. As much as it felt wrong, it felt right.

Just when he was really beginning to get into it, however, the psychiatrist pulled away totally, with a small smile. And, to see Hannibal's lips that soft, rosy colour, from the amount of contact they'd just been under, and to see that hungry, feral look in his eye, well; Will couldn't lie to himself now he felt so real. It was hot.

"What was that for?" he asked, breathless.

Hannibal grinned, and shook himself off, before indicating to the mouth of the alley once more. "Consider that my way of… _relieving the built up tensions_."


End file.
